Way of the Wicked
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: The First Slayer says there's a world where Faith can find redemption, start over, and all she has to do is kill some guy named Sam Winchester. Of course, Faith is terrible at following instructions. Dean/Faith.
1. Leap of Faith

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy or Supernatural. Written for fun, not profit. Rights remain with original owners.

A/N: This is one of those stories I've been trying to write on for a few years. I don't know why writing this was like pulling teeth, but by the end, I was back to having fun. I hope you enjoy this, and I appreciate feedback, as I'm considering continuing this canon divergent in a sequel, if the inspiration stays with me.

Setting for this story: As for the Buffy verse, it's been over a year since the repercussions of Season 7's series finale. As for Supernatural, the story picks up with Season 2's "All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1," but the story incorporates minor elements from later seasons. Nothing too confusing if you quit watching at a certain season, since there's a "butterfly effect" that happens when we introduce a slayer.

This isn't going to be a blow-by-blow retelling of "All Hell Breaks Loose". When Faith enters the scene, things go sideways and another path is taken altogether.

* * *

Dreams were good.

It wasn't always so. When she'd been...sick, she'd had nightmares, but not anymore. Old Faith was a night owl; New Faith enjoyed her sleep, when the job allowed it.

Most people would assume that a convicted murderer would dream of blood, of sin and hellfire. But she enjoyed her dreams. How ironic it was that the other girls, slayers she'd met, had nightmares, and that she, the black sheep, was blessed with sweaty fantasies of hard bodies and images of a make-believe life of sundresses and day jobs.

Faith knew why. It was because her real life was so screwed up. Dreams were the only escape she had from the real nightmares that haunted her during waking hours. Which was probably why she was pissed to have her happy time taken from her.

"You've got the wrong girl," she snapped, squinting into the bright desert landscape before her. "I'm out of the loop. Call B if you wanna play this game."

An approaching mirage, the first slayer appeared before her at a half squat. Her dark skin was gray from the white painted across her face. Her strength was in her grace as she approached, her limber limbs twisting at every angle as she bled in and out of existence, appearing before Faith, then beside her, where a boulder disturbed the rolling landscape.

In another blink, the first slayer was on top of the huge stone, her back to the sun hanging there. Faith was nearly blinded by the bright light surrounding "the Primitive," as the white old guys seemed to always refer to her in their Watcher journals. Faith wasn't going to start testing out that nickname any time soon.

"A slayer's gift," the Primitive hissed, staring down. "A slayer's gift is death."

Faith would have rolled her eyes if they weren't stinging. Long, twisting locks of her dark hair caught the wind and slapped her neck as she tilted her head up, refusing to look away.

"Yeah, friend of a friend told me about this song and dance," Faith bit. "Death is our gift, got it. Call me Santa. Now let me get back to sleep."

The first slayer jumped down from the boulder, hunched over, but her eyes seemed to stay on Faith. "Death is _his_ gift," she said.

There was anger there, in her words. Faith pretended it didn't send a chill down her back.

"I guess you don't hear too well," Faith replied. She paused, raising a brow. "Wait. His?"

The slayer disappeared out of existence, leaving the full might of the sun glaring at Faith. She winced, looking away.

"She's a little vague."

Faith took a step back, recognizing the voice. Buffy was standing beside the boulder, her arms crossed in front of her, wearing the same expression she always gave the other Chosen slayer: distrust and disappointment.

"You're not B," Faith said.

"Nope," Buffy replied, false pep in her voice. She approached slowly, staring off at the land behind Faith, her eyes distant and old. "So, redemption, huh?"

Faith didn't answer.

"I know you want it," Buffy continued. "The real me knows too, deep down. It makes you something very close to her old squeeze, so she doesn't mention it. But I guess you probably know that already." Her green eyes shifted to Faith. "After all, we are inside your head."

"OK, I'll bite. Who are you, and what do you want?"

"The spirit," Buffy answered. "I am Sineya and all those proceeding her. I am the slayer in your blood and in your soul." She cocked her head, as if taking in the other woman's appearance for the first time. "I'm spread thin these days."

"That's half my question answered."

Buffy smiled slightly. "I need someone to go."

Faith blinked, her tight muscles rolling under her skin. "I'm not ready."

"Not to die," Buffy scoffed. "Jeeze, Faith. I thought I was the dramatic one. Nope, I just need a slayer to do a job. And it requires a change of address."

"Slayer dreams aren't usually this..."

"Informal? Informative?" Buffy, the slayer spirit, provided. She shrugged. "Only one way of getting through that thick head of yours, I guess." Her slight smile faded. "Even now, after all this time, they still see you as the dark one. As the unforgivable one. That's why they make you do the dirty work, Faith. No matter how many good deeds you do, you'll never be clean again."

Buffy stepped closer. "Not in this world, at least."

"I'm not trying to find forgiveness," Faith said. Her frown was heavy and pulling at her cheeks. She fought the urge to swing out at the other slayer's form. "I do what needs to be done."

"Like take down those vampire children not too long back?" the spirit asked, amusement in its ancient eyes. Before Faith could reply, Buffy continued, "You 'd do what needs to be done,' I know. That's exactly why it has to be you."

Buffy jerked her head in Faith's direction, her eyes on something past her shoulder. Faith turned, surprised to find a bed sitting on the desert sands. She was somehow less surprised that there was a man lying, stomach first, over its soft covers, fully dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved button-up. This was more like her usual dreams. Granted the guys were usually awake and halfway to their birthday suits, but a girl couldn't have everything.

"Nice," Faith commented. "Could climb that boy like a tree."

Buffy didn't answer, so Faith approached the bed. The man muttered something in his sleep, a name, and rolled his head against the pillow, his sweaty bangs tangling beneath his head. He gripped at the sheets with a tight fist, jerking slightly in his sleep. A nightmare. Faith wasn't sure why, but she felt the need and sat down on the bed beside him, putting her fingers in his hair. He was maybe a few years younger than her, but something about the frown on his face reminded her of a little boy.

"You do what needs to be done," Buffy said. "That's why it has to be you."

Faith looked up sharply. "What are you saying?"

"His name is Sam Winchester," Buffy said.

"You want him dead." Faith felt sick. "And I'm the one who kills humans." She stiffened slightly. "What's in it for me?"

Buffy sat down beside Faith, a hand on the young man's leg, as if to sooth him. It was an oddly tender gesture, considering what the spirit was suggesting.

"A new world where no one knows what you did. A world without other slayers." Buffy smiled again, her white teeth shining in the sun. "There is no such thing as redemption, Faith. Not here. Not for you." She gripped the man's leg more tightly, as if he might slip away. "But this one act can give you your freedom. And you can have your chance to save the world, without standing in someone else's shadow."

"Who is he?" Faith asked.

"Just a man. A special man, perhaps."

Faith shook her head. "What he do?"

"Does it matter, Faith?" Buffy asked. "Would it matter if he was innocent, if his life is the one that needs to be taken? For the good of all mankind, for the good of this one man's soul…Would it matter?" The spirit stared at her. "Buffy says she could do this kind of job, but she wouldn't have it in her, not when it comes to such a pretty face. I know. I'm in both of you. But you can get past this skin he wears. You can kill him before he becomes a monster. You can save him from himself."

Buffy leaned closer. "And you can save yourself in the process."

Faith released a shallow breath, pulling her hand away, curling her arms up against her chest. "What do I have to do?"

The spirit's grin returned, and Buffy blinked out of existence. The Primitive took her place, coiled like a predator on the bed beside Sam. Her answer was simple.

"Jump."

* * *

Buffy, who had forgotten her headset, held the cell phone against her ear with one shoulder, using her free hand to grab hold of a vampire and toss him in the direction of Tabby, the blue-haired junior slayer to her right. Knowing the girl would rid her of that one, the older slayer turned back to the fight before her, aiming a high kick into a stick-thin female vampire's face.

"Say again, Xander?" Buffy called into the phone. The battle between the team of slayers and the vampires was loud and made even more so by echoes off the tall walls of the warehouse.

"I said." Xander paused to sigh. "Our witches just got in contact with Will. Any way you can hold Darien off for another two minutes before she gets there?"

"Easy peas-y. Would you also like me to make out a grocery list after I'm finished? Since I'll have all that time to spare?" Buffy asked, rolling her eyes. She ended the call before Xander could comment on her grumpiness being tied to her disastrous date the evening before. The phone was kicked out of her hand before she had a chance to pocket it. She glared at the offending vampire.

"That was my third this month," she snapped.

He was dust a split second later.

Buffy pushed her way past the dozen vampires charging the slayers, leaving the minions for the handful of other girls to clean up. Her eyes were on the warlock, Darien Smith. He was standing at the warehouse's center, before a large symbol drawn onto the cement floor. His arms were outreached, his lips moving. Buffy could barely hear his chant over the noise.

Her body tightened, her knuckles white where she was gripping the sword in her hand. She didn't want to use it. Not on him. Darien was one of Willow's students, one of the few males she'd started teaching. His sister was a trusted slayer currently working in Australia. He was one of theirs. And he'd turned on them.

Buffy shook her head, unsure of what to think of the chaos around her. The guy was still a human, she knew, even though he had called together a small army of newborn vampires, gaining their 'loyalty' through promises of an apocalypse and slayer blood. The vampire army was weak, though, and the seers working under the New Council had foreseen nothing remotely resembling an apocalypse coming from Darien's actions.

She had no clue what he could possibly hope to gain from this attack, but his motives didn't matter anymore. Civilians had died thanks to Darien's little gathering. And now he was playing with dark magic. This had to end.

Buffy swallowed hard, trying to close herself off as she approached him. She was surprised when a hand touched her shoulder. She turned, swinging out and barely missing the brunette behind her.

"Faith?" Buffy snapped. "What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be on the other side of the country?"

Faith's reply was a fist to the face. Buffy bounced off the floor, a few feet further back than she had been.

"Sorry, B," Faith called.

Buffy lay stunned as she watched the other woman move forward without hesitation. Her instinct was to jump up, stop her, but then she remembered what she was about to do to Darien and she hesitated. Maybe Xander had called Faith in for just this. It was a bitter thought, giving this task over to someone else, but Buffy remembered sharing donuts with Darien last week while chatting about Channing Tatum's abs. Buffy remembered the happiness in Willow's voice when she mentioned the young man's progress.

She didn't _want_ to be the one to take him out. Buffy hated that she had the second necessary to realize as much as she watched Faith charge forward.

Faith was nearly at a run, and the slayer was a yard away from the warlock when the floor opened up in front of him, a perfect circle where the symbol had been painted. A pool of white light took its place. Buffy tried to call out a warning, but her voice left her when she saw Faith grab hold of Darien and tossed him behind her, away from the portal's opening.

It should have stopped, the hard clenching in her gut, but Buffy still felt like something was about to go wrong. Then she saw it, the strange way Faith was hesitating on the edge of the circle, staring down into the portal. Buffy wasn't sure how she knew what was about to happen, but she did.

"Faith, stop!"

Buffy stood up, her brow furrowed as she watched the other slayer look over her shoulder once more.

Buffy was confused by the determination on Faith's face, and the small smile she was wearing. It looked like a goodbye.

"What are you…?"

The muttered words drifted. Buffy's mouth opened to shout another warning, but she cut herself off again. Faith's grin grew into something bitter as she raised her middle finger in salute, then took the short leap into the center of the circle. The dark haired slayer disappeared in a flash of blinding light.

Buffy blinked away the spots dancing over her vision. The portal was gone, the painted symbol smoldering in its place. The noise around her died down, but for one sound.

Darien laughed manically, rocking against the ground.

Buffy ran to the warlock, grabbing him up by the collar of his shirt until he was on his feet again.

"Where'd she go?" she snapped, holding him high. "Where'd you send Faith?"

Darien's grin was wide, menacing. "Somewhere fun. It's been a real blast, but I gotta go. Boss is callin'."

His eyes turned an inky black, and he pushed her away. Buffy dropped him, letting him fall butt first to the cement floor. Buffy took a step back, her eyes wide and her sword raised to one side, ready to strike. The warlock kept his grin a moment longer before his head snapped up and his mouth opened impossibly wide. Billowing black smoke pushed its way out of his throat and formed an arching cloud over his head. The black mass froze in the air a moment before it dove into the symbol painted on the cement, sending up a spray of glowing embers.

Darien fell back onto his elbows, his head lolling lazily. His eyes focused on Buffy after a moment.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice hoarse. He jumped at the blade beside him. "Whoa. What's with the pointy accessories, Buff?"

Buffy lowered the weapon, her expression dumbstruck. She heard Tabby's steps as the younger girl approached from behind.

"What was that black smoke?" Tabby asked.

Buffy shook her head, remembered a time that wasn't hers: chains and old men holding a young girl to the earth, a force ripping through the girl's body, giving her a gift and stripping her of her humanity.

She'd seen smoke like that before.

"A demon," Buffy answered. "That was the essence of a demon."


	2. Bad at Following Instructions

_Cold Oaks, South Dakota_

Hell. Faith had looked into it a time or two, in a frighteningly literal sense, and fire and brimstone seemed to be a common factor. But this dark place, this dead place, seemed like a good contender for the big H. She was more of a city girl, but it wasn't like she was unfamiliar with waking up in a pitch black forest, thanks to time spent slaying in bizarre locations. So she knew it wasn't the finger-like tree branches silhouetted by moonlight, or the distant outline of lifeless looking buildings waiting over the ridge, that sent a tingle down her spine. No, it was in the air, a sense of warning, a sense of foreboding: this place was haunted.

"And no Scooby gang in sight."

The sound of her own voice surprised her, and she'd taken enough blows to the head to know that easy, cool-cat tone was due to her disorienting crash landing. She was anything but calm on the inside.

It felt like a dream, seeing the shocked look on Buffy's face, taking the leap into the portal, opening her eyes to a sky of stars above her and dirt in her hair. Maybe it was. Maybe she was halfway through a patrol and took a good hit to the head. Maybe a big bad was to blame. But Faith doubted it.

This was on her. Whatever happened next was on her, because she'd made the decision to jump.

And she was here, wherever 'here' was, with purpose: kill some random guy named Sam Winchester.

Easy.

She swallowed hard and pushed herself up off the ground, brushing the gray mud off her black denim jeans. Out of instinct, she drew her leg up, finding the knife secured in her boot. It wasn't her usual choice, but the black blade and handle was nearly invisible in the shadows.

She held her arm out, tip forward, letting the knife lead, and quietly crossed through the woods, closing in on the buildings ahead. The closer she got, the more certain she was that there was no one living anywhere nearby. What she'd thought was the edge of a town appeared to be the whole town. A faded white chapel stood out in the pale light at the far end before two lines of store fronts with rickety balconies and rough wooden porches, a gravel and mud road running between them.

Cobbler. General store. Saloon. Faith glimpsed a few crooked signs here and there before she heard a murmur of voices and spotted a faint yellow light behind one of the windows. She circled back behind the closest row of buildings and huffed, despite herself. She'd landed in a ghost town. An honest-to-God ghost town.

She shook her head. It would have been funny if not for the eerie chill in the air and the tightening in her gut that told her this wasn't some tourist attraction. She could almost hear Dawn excitedly insisting on a camp-out, because she'd love this place. Thinking of the young Watcher soured her stomach. If things went to plan, she wouldn't be seeing D or any of the others again.

A good thing. She was sure. But it didn't feel that way at the moment.

" _AVA!"_

The shout was muffled but not distant, and Faith slid into the darkest shadow of the building, waiting. No one rounded the corner, so she eased back out. Whatever was going on, it was happening on the other side of the building.

"This is cheating, you know."

Faith froze, her fingers slick against the handle of her knife as she barely checked the urge to throw it in the voice's direction. He was close, maybe twenty feet off into the woods, standing with one shoulder propped against a tree. If she didn't trust her senses, if she didn't trust her eyes when they met his, she would have sworn he was just an ordinary guy, middle-aged, complete with a few laugh lines and an easy smile, probably blue collar with a wife and kids back home. But Faith kept her knife ready, her body tense.

Something was wrong with this picture. Her nose wrinkled when she caught a whiff of sulfur in the air.

"That's being prepared, pops," she noted, twisting her knife's blade slightly.

It was a show, as she was sure the creature was aware, because she was certain the weapon would do little good against this guy…Whatever sort of demon he was.

He chuckled softly and took a step forward. The moonlight hit hit him across the eyes. They were a murky yellow and fixed on her. His smile shifted into something harder, something significantly less amused.

"See, I was just settling down to watch my show after a long day of running errands, when in comes an unexpected guest without so much as a phone call of warning. I just hate it when people pop in unannounced." He paused, as if considering his words carefully. "You're not one of mine. I'd know if you were one of _mine_. Care to explain why you're crashing my casting call, beautiful?"

Faith raised a brow. "Didn't realize it was a private party."

The demon was quiet a long moment, watching her carefully. His eyes widened slightly, as if he'd just noticed something interesting.

"Oh, my, my," he said, quietly. There seemed to be a touch of bitterness bleeding through his amusement. "I didn't even realize you were one of his…" He cocked his head to the side. "Figures. The runt has a breakdown and disappears, leaving the faithful to do all the work, but he still can't keep his hand out of my cookie jar, can he? He would pop back up, right when things are getting interesting again, with offspring in tow … Gotta say though," he gave her another long, sweeping glance, "I'm impressed with his work." His voice hardened in anger. "After I made all the sacrifices, of course, he'd try to swoop in and pretend he put in the labor to free his old lady. Never did have a bit of respect for the hierarchy downstairs."

It wasn't often that Faith was lost for words, but she felt like she'd missed half the conversation. "I'm sorry, did we date or something?" she blurted. "Because I usually remember the demons I bang."

He was silent a beat.

"Seriously?" He let out a loud laugh, clapping his hands together in front of him. "This is rich," he muttered to himself, then refocused on Faith. "You know, I'd heard the stories, rumors from the _thin place_ , but I didn't believe them…It would be sad if it weren't so funny. Guess I don't really have to worry about you making a play for the throne then, do I?" He sobered. "Well, it's been lovely, but I have a hell of a game unfolding, and I need to watch my players. Stay away from my kiddos, and I won't have to ruin your pretty meatsuit."

Faith shot him a tight, pissy grin. "Meatsuit? What the fu-?" But the demon was gone already, replaced with a stretch of shadows. "Why doesn't this shit ever happen to Buffy?"

A single scream pierced the night. Faith didn't know what it said about her life, but the cry didn't alarm her as much as it should have, and she slipped back into her stealth mode, crouching low against wooden steps. The demon, whoever or whatever Mr. Sass was, had found her easily enough, but he hadn't tried to kill her. Not exactly an endearing sign, considering what he had said, but she wasn't sure yet if he was the only baddie in town.

She could hear footsteps, muffled voices. At least three, maybe more. And then there was that constant feeling of uneasiness. She was sure her instinct had been right; this place was frickin' haunted. She just wasn't sure if the yellow-eyed guy was the only thing pinging her monster radar.

Her eyes widened as she watched the shadows in front of her move. No…not shadows. She saw the darkness lift away, a black cloud of smoke trailing through the air and into a building far ahead of her. She had a feeling that was exactly where the owner of the scream was holed-up.

"Just another trip into Wonderland," she muttered and moved forward, crossing the short distance quietly.

A faint light flickered from the crack in the door, and she eased up the back porch's steps, keeping low to the ground. When she found the back door, she tried the rusted knob. It was open. She stepped in cautiously, but she didn't hear anyone inside. Up a narrow hall, she could see the opening to a lit room.

She saw the spray of red on the walls and splattering the side window before she really looked down at the bodies. One of them had done the screaming. Probably the woman, the one currently propped on the floor, her head twisted at an odd angle, lifeless eyes wide in surprise. Maybe she'd found the other one. He was in even worse shape, his body ripped open, shredded to the point that she couldn't sort skin from cloth. They were both young, probably early twenties. Everything was fresh, wet. Faith could taste the blood in the air, and it made her grimace.

She backed out of the room carefully, her boot scuffing against something on the floor, and she bent down see what the little line of white was made of: salt. For protection, probably, if she remembered correctly. She was pretty sure Giles had went on and on about its properties before, but Faith had more use for weapons than laying circles.

It looked like their seasoning choices hadn't done them much good.

She turned her head sharply when she realized there were voices coming from out front. The main door had been left ajar, giving her enough room to prop against the wall and peek out the crack without giving away her location.

" _You don't have to do this."_

His voice was low, barely audible thanks to the distance, but the words themselves almost startled her into stepping out the door. Instead, she held her place, eyes wide as she realized she recognized the speaker, even in the poor lighting. Awake and standing, Sam Winchester was a huge guy, tall, thin but broad shouldered enough to be carrying his own share of muscles. Something about that floppy brown hair and those pleading eyes still gave the same impression she'd had of him in her dream, that he was just a kid. Young. Innocent.

Looks could be deceiving. Faith knew as much. Hell, she'd lived as much. She wondered if people who looked at her ever thought, There goes a killer. There goes a cold-blooded murder.

" _Sam, he's not letting us go. Only one. If we don't play along, he'll kill us both…"_

Faith shook off the thought, forcing her focus on the other young man outside, the one who was speaking. He couldn't have been any older than Sam, a lost look on his face when she caught his profile. His features were dark in the frail light, but his clothes were easy to identify, camo army fatigues. She raised a brow, confused by what the guy had said. Had these two killed the couple behind her or had this mysterious "he" done it. When they mentioned killing the "demon," she rolled her eyes.

Not so mysterious, she reminded herself, since she'd already met the creature in charge. She'd put money on this being what the yellow-eyed demon had been talking about when he mentioned his "kiddos." The demon was forcing these guys into their own personal _Battle Royale_. But for what?

"Shits and giggles," she muttered under her breath. Besides, she didn't really need answers. She wasn't here for research; she was here on a mission.

"How do I know you won't turn on me?" army boy asked.

"I won't."

Sam followed the statement with a deliberately slow reach to his side, to pull out a knife. He bent down, sitting it down in the mud. "Don't do this," he said. "Don't play into what it wants."

Faith blinked at him, the sincerity in his voice forcing her to think about the statement. _Don't play into what it wants_. She wasn't a stranger to regret or to second-guessing herself, not when she'd made so many wrong moves in the past. Not when she'd jumped on too many bandwagons, ready to rumble, first for the Watchers, then for the Mayor. For someone who liked to play the part of the rebel, she knew she'd been a follower too many times.

The soldier clenched the iron bar in his hand a moment longer before bending to sit it on the ground. As soon as it hit the dirt, Faith saw the shift in his body language, but Sam didn't. He looked shocked when the soldier popped back up and threw out a fist. The punch sent Sam through the air and into a wooden corral fence. He landed hard on his back, and Faith took an instinctive step forward.

 _So, the army private's not so human. At least not a normal human_ , Faith guessed. Which meant Sam might not be either. Hell, maybe no one was in this world. Maybe apes ruled over people too. She wasn't sure what the rule book looked like, only that the first slayer had told her the leap would take her to another place. She'd talked to Angel and his crew enough about dimensional travel (because that seemed to be a common past time for people in friggin' LA) to realize it wouldn't be entirely odd if a talking T-Rex appeared out of the chapel right now.

So she held back, grimacing when the soldier caught up with Sam, ready to finish the job, but the kid wasn't going down easy.

"Good move, Sammy boy," she whispered.

She was impressed, despite herself, at Sam's fighting skills. He didn't seem to have the superhuman strength the private had, but he'd obviously been trained. Another detail she filed away for later. The soldier caught his arm as he swung, and even Faith could hear the hard pop as it dislocated from his shoulder.

He couldn't keep this up. A few more punches to the kidney, and the decision would be made for her. Faith knew she could just stand there and let it happen, that she could get what she needed, finish this, without ever having to lift a finger.

"If I wasn't so goddamned bad at following instructions," she said.

It was loud enough for them to hear, but Sam was the only one to look in her direction. She had a split second to realize speaking aloud was the wrong decision before the soldier overtook Sam, the two of them falling to the ground together in a painful-looking tumble. Faith reached them before another set of blows could be exchanged, kicking the soldier off of Sam.

He hit the ground a few feet away at a roll, barely lifting his head when he came to a stop. Faith could see a patch across one side of his chest: TALLEY. He stared up at her, wide-eyed.

"Where did you come from?" he asked.

"Stay down, Talley," she warned, since answering the question didn't seem particularly important while breaking up a fight to the death. At the stunned expressions on both their faces, Faith sighed, deciding the role she needed to play. "Now, do either of you want to tell me what the hell is going on here?"

She caught herself directing the question to Sam, who was still sprawled out on the ground, blood smeared across half his face and caked with dirt. He opened and closed his mouth, as if he planned to answer but wasn't sure how. With a wince, he managed to push himself up onto his elbow.

"We were brought here," he said. His voice was steady, but Faith could hear the pain in it.

"How badly are you hurt?" she asked, reaching down for him. He hesitated a moment, eyes flicking to the black blade still in her hand, before he took her up on the offer, grasping her free wrist tightly as he slowly pulled himself up to a stand.

" _Sam!"_

They heard the distant shout at the same time, both turning to look down the old dirt road.

Sam let out a huff of relief, a small smile on his tired face. "That's my brother," he said.

Faith raised a brow. The way he said "my brother," he could have just as easily said "the cavalry." The guy had a family, a family who was apparently looking for him…Her brow knitted in thought as she considered asking him what had happened, why the demon had taken him…why her inner-slayer-spirit had determined killing him would help save the world.

"Hope he knows how to get out of Old West Land," she said, instead. "This is not my idea of a vacation."

She heard the movement behind them, the shuffle of feet on the dirt, and turned in time to throw a hand up, catching Talley's arm as he shoved out with the knife. The blade stopped inches from Sam's back, and before Talley could manage to use that super-strength of his, Faith brought her knee up to his side, landing a blow.

He grunted out, his attention refocusing on Faith. She saw the swipe of his fist right before it slammed into the side of her face. The blow was dizzying, even for her, but he seemed shocked when she stayed on her feet, only stumbling back. Talley was quicker to react than she expected, and while her vision was still spinning, he lunged out with the knife. She dodged it, but not quickly enough. A white hot pain lit up her side, where the blade had sliced through her jacket and grazed her.

Talley reared back, aiming for her neck this time, and Faith saw it, out of the corner of her eye, the rusty edge of a metal bar slicing through the air behind him, Sam grimacing as he swung the weapon. It hit Talley squarely across the skull, and the man's eyes rolled back in his head as he fell forward into Faith. She twisted away from his blade, but his body hit her at full force, and she found herself knocked breathless and on her back, the man splayed out over top her.

Faith blinked up at the night sky. The stars were moving quickly, or maybe that was just her head wound. For a few long seconds, she forgot where she was and why. That moment of blissful ignorance was over all too soon when she realized Sam was at her side, on his knees, struggling to lift Talley off her with his one good arm. She didn't need the help, could have thrown him ten feet in the other direction if she needed to, but she froze instead when she realized that soldier boy wasn't moving.

Faith was suddenly sharply aware of the placement of her hands, one of them in the dirt, the other pinned between his body and hers. The handle of her knife against her ribs hurt, sure, but she was certain the bladed end would have hurt much more.

"No…" She swallowed down the word, but it came out again, like a hiccup. "No…no…"

This time, she did help push, carefully rolling Talley over onto his back. Her boots raked through the mud as she pulled them up, practically curling in on herself as she stared down at the body beside her.

The dead man's eyes were open slightly, mouth slack. He was young. He looked so human. Which, he had to have been to die so easily. The blade was still inside him, at an angle, and she could map its course between the rips, slicing too close to the heart. There wasn't much blood, all of it trapped inside. But he was gone. She didn't have to touch him to know he was gone.

There were footsteps set at a dead run. They slowed as they reached them. Faith heard Sam scramble up. Heard the thud as his body slammed against another man's in a tight hug. They were talking, slightly frantic. She was sure what they were saying was important, but it all sounded like a low buzzing in her ears. Her eyes stayed glued on the name tag: TALLEY. And the spot above his heart, where, between one blink and another, she saw the blunt end of a wooden stake instead of a knife handle.

Was it supposed to get easier, taking lives? Wasn't it supposed to be a simple thing, for a murderer like her?

She didn't know why it came as a surprise that there was a corpse laying beside her. She'd come here to kill a man, after all.

* * *

Turning a corner at a full run, it had felt like he was treading water. Seconds seemed to stretch impossibly long. Dean could see his brother, could see a brunette at Sam's side. Could see the man standing up behind them, a knife in hand:

Dean imagined it so clearly, the way the man would lunge forward, slide the knife into his brother's back. The way Sam's knees would give out before the shocked look ever left his face. Dean could see himself sliding into his brother, catching him as he fell, holding on to him in those last seconds.

It was every nightmare he'd ever had.

And he woke from it.

The moment he spotted the movement behind Sam, the woman at his side whipped around, catching the other man's arm before he could deliver the blow. Dean sucked in a breath so fast it rattled his ribs. He barely registered the rest of the scuffle, his focus on Sam. When the others fell to the ground, Dean hated himself for thanking God that his brother wasn't down there with them.

When Dean did come to a stop, it was to grab his brother. Sam leaned into the hug, careful of one arm. Dean pulled back, long enough to grab his brother by the other shoulder, rake his eyes over him. There was blood and pain on his face, two things Dean never liked to see, but he heard Sam ferociously insisting he was fine.

"Fine my ass," Dean hissed, and hugged him again.

He could feel Bobby's hand resting on his back, the older man finally catching up to the pair, and realized he needed to turn his attention back to the others.

Dean's focus came back to him a rush when he looked down to see the girl who'd saved Sam. And the man who'd tried to kill him. The guy looked young, his wide, dead eyes staring up at the sky.

"The demon brought us here," Sam said, quietly. "It wanted us to kill each other off."

Dean swallowed hard, wanting to forget what he'd imagined seeing. The knife in the back, his brother falling onto his knees. He didn't want to be in this place.

"We need to move," Bobby barked, obviously in the same mindset. "How bad you hurt?"

"I can walk," Sam answered. "Help her."

Dean shot his brother a look. He'd seen the way she'd hit their attacker. "She like you?"

Sam grimaced. "Yeah. I think."

"No." The word was barely a whisper. It was the woman on the ground. Dean realized she wasn't listening to him, and he couldn't blame her. Her eyes were glued to the dead man. "No," she breathed again, shaking her head.

"Hey." Dean squatted down. "Look, hey, can you hear me?"

She blinked at him with big brown doe eyes. They quickly hardened, a stormy darkness in them hiding whatever had been swimming beneath a moment earlier. She straightened, pushing herself up off the ground. Dean followed her lead and reached out, hoping to give her a hand out of the mud. She dodged him with a quick step back.

"Faith," she said. She took a deep, shaky breath, and stood a bit taller."From the shouting, I'll have to assume your boy there is Sam."

"Good to meet you, Faith," Sam said.

Dean blinked at her, surprised at her sudden alertness. "Well, Faith, I'm Dean and that's Bobby. What do say we get the hell out of here?"

"All about a free ride," Faith answered. She grimaced in a way that seemed like it might have been a smile.

Dean nodded. Grinning in the face of doom was something he could appreciate. The sooner they were out of Cold Oaks, the better.


	3. Play the Part

It was easy to fake a state of mental shock. Faith was halfway there, and fighting her instinct to brush everything off, to put thoughts of the dead man aside like he was nothing more than a bad dream, _everything's five-by-five, thanks for asking_. Normal people didn't act that way; normal people reacted when they murdered someone. Faith honestly couldn't tell if her silence was due to playing the part, or if it was genuine. She just knew that she needed to keep it up if she wanted the two men in front of her to think she wasn't abnormal.

Well, any more than they already knew her to be, since they'd come to their conclusions quickly enough about her being like Sam, one of the special children sent to _Battle Royale: Old West_. She wasn't arguing, because they weren't completely wrong. Sent there by a possibly sinister being? Sure. Asked to kill someone? You bet ya, pal. Tangled up in demon problems? Obviously.

They didn't give her the full interrogation they were obviously panting for, she noticed, but there was a chance that was coming soon as they were out of dodge. Better to keep your head down, she reminded herself, and tried to stare out the window of the Impala instead of at the backs of the two men in the front seat.

She winced at the flash of a light to the corner of her eye.

"Bobby's signaling us to pull over."

It was Dean stating the obvious. He was the hot older brother, Faith had quickly learned, and Bobby Singer would have been the old grumpy teddy bear in the car behind them. She'd been trying to catch on to their relationship, and all she knew was the pack of them were tight. The way Dean had looked at Sam when they found him … It made Faith wonder what it was like to have family that loved you that much. People who would lose their whole world without one another. It made her think of Buffy and Dawn, with a small ping of jealousy, and she didn't want to go down that path. She was here so she could bury her past, start clean, and that meant no thinking about what Buffy was doing right now.

Too late:

Were they trying to find her?

Sure. Good guys probably thinking she was wrapped up in bad guy shit again. It was their duty to look into it. But they weren't looking for her the way Dean and Bobby were so obviously looking for Sam Winchester, the boy who still lived.

Maybe she was a little bitter that this trip was turning into a bust from which there likely wasn't an escape. Another slayer probably wouldn't have fallen for this shit to begin with. Faith pushed herself back deeper into the seat, annoyed that she didn't have a game plan for what to do after tossing her original orders. This was worse than when she took a hit job from evil lawyers. Almost.

The Impala hit gravel on the side of the road and rolled to a stop. With a less than subtle glance at one another, the Winchesters seemed to communicate a message.

"Be right back," Sam said, quietly, to Faith.

She pretended not to really hear him. Easier than to acknowledge that they'd pulled over to have a private pow-wow without her listening in on the conversation. In all fairness, there hadn't been much time for deliberation when they first met. There was a general need to get the Hell out before demonic forces showed up to finish what they'd started. Or to crown the winner. The hunters, she reminded herself, didn't know that Sam was actually the last man standing and thought she was in the running, another poor civilian transported to Horrorville like the rest of them. Which meant she needed saved.

There it was, the bit that was frustrating her. Not a few hours new to this world and the people whose lives she'd agreed to destroy _(for the greater good, B)_ , those were the people trying to help her. Despite the fact that she still had a young soldier's dry blood under her nails. Despite the fact that they didn't know shit about her.

Faith leaned her head against the back passenger window, as if resting. Sam might have gotten a taste of her super strength, but there was no reason to let on that her hearing was above average.

The men had walked back toward Bobby, who was parked at least two car lengths away, and Faith could pick up every word they said.

"...Yeah, well, doesn't mean I have to like it," Bobby was answering.

"You had holy water in the bottle. You tested her before we even left," Sam insisted.

Faith raised a brow, giving the empty plastic water bottle at her feet a side glance. Go, grumpy bear, she thought, absently. And she'd just thought the silver fox was trying to cope a feel while bandaging her side. She gingerly touched the shallow cut, hoping it would take its sweet time healing. No reason to freak them out further.

"I'm just sayin' we need a plan," Bobby said. "What do we do with this girl? You just said she showed up out of the blue instead of with the other batch of kids. And, Hell, some of those were homicidal. I'm just sayin', being in the wrong place at the right time isn't a ringing endorsement."

"That doesn't mean she's working with the demon." Even Sam sounded someone doubtful of his own words. "But if she was, wouldn't it be better to keep her close? The demon put us in that place for a reason, and there's nothing to stop it coming after us again. We don't have a choice."

"Sam's right, but we'll have to convince her of that," Dean said. "She hasn't said much since we left, but once she comes to herself, she might have a problem with being driven to a safe house with a bunch of strangers."

"Don't know if my place much qualifies as a safe house after what happened at Harvelle's," Bobby griped.

"What happened at the Roadhouse?" Sam asked.

There was a heavy pause, and Faith figured whatever was coming next was going to be painful. She pulled away from the glass, not really wanting to listen in. At least she knew where the group stood where she was concerned. They didn't trust her, but they did want to keep her safe, just as she'd guessed. She winced at the thought.

Maybe she should just get out of the car. Walk away. She was already giving Sineya the Slay Ghost the finger by saving Sam instead of killing him. Who said she had to stick around at all?

She didn't budge. Sighing to herself, she rolled her head back. Closing her eyes to take in the rich scent of leather, gunpowder, and a sort of masculine musk that seemed to linger on the seats. Not exactly something that she would want to bottle and sell, but it was oddly comforting. Homey, even, if a car could be called a home.

"You're not leaving, because you know you still have a chance to change your mind and do what you know needs to be done."

Faith's head snapped up to find Buffy staring at her from the front passenger's seat. The small blonde wasn't real, Faith knew, but she looked it, almost. This was a dream, obviously.

"If I call bullshit, you going to send me home to momma-slayer?" Faith asked, grinning tightly. "Let the real B get all pissy at me for not doing something right again?"

The first slayer tilted her head slightly in the way Buffy usually did when she wanted to let everyone know Faith was full of crap.

"You tell yourself you won't do it. That his blood won't be spilled by your hand. But, then, why stay with them?" Buffy asked. "Are you waiting to see what he does wrong? To see why he deserves to die? He doesn't. He's a victim of powers beyond his control. Even his father knew what would become of his son. Ask, see if the truth is in the brother's eyes. It's not Sam's fault, but we made an agreement, Faith. Time to hold up your end."

"Yeah, well, always get the money first, sweetheart." Faith shrugged. "Looks like you sent me to Neverland already, so I get to play Lost Girl all I want. And I don't even need to off Peter Pan."

"I won't send you back," Buffy assured. "So, you're half right. You can ignore me all you want. But you should know, it'll be hard for you to start over with a white-picket-fence in a world that's about to burn to ash."

"And you're telling me that Sam Winchester's going to be the one to end it all?" Faith huffed. "I've known the guy for a few hours, and I can already say you'd be better off sending me after this yellow-eyed bastard instead. Money's on that guy stirring this shit pot."

Buffy leaned forward, over the seats, closer to Faith. "Stay. Watch. Learn."

The slam of a car door woke her. Faith nearly bashed her head against the window when she jerked straight. The Winchesters were quiet in the front seat, Sam carefully adjusting a seatbelt around his makeshift sling.

"You know, it's polite to let a girl know when she's getting her next meal," Faith noted, holding back a yawn with one fist.

There was a short cough that might have been a laugh from Dean. "A girl after my own heart," he said. "Bobby said he's got a lasagna in the freezer."

"Pairs well with beer," she approved. "So, Grumpy back there doesn't mind a dinner guest?"

Sam shifted in his seat, as if uncomfortable, and winced when he hit his shoulder. "We need to talk, Faith. About what happened back there. About why we were in that place."

"From the sound of your voice, I'd say the conversation is going to be of the doom and gloom variety," Faith commented.

"Do you know what was going on back there? Do you know who it was who… I mean, do you know what brought you there?" Sam asked.

"Hard not to know," Faith answered, cautiously.

"Then, you saw him?"

"When we get to Bobby's," Dean interrupted. His eyes shot up to the rearview mirror, and Faith fought the urge to wink at him. "Plenty of time for chatting after we clean up. And eat," he promised. "We're almost there."

"Hey, you feed me, and I'm down for an interrogation," Faith agreed, trying for levity. "Long as you don't mind me asking a few questions too."

"Sounds fair," Sam answered.

Dean didn't reply, his eyes ahead, on the road, and Faith tried to ignore the guilty side-glance Sam gave him. He was nervous, she realized, and it made her stomach turn. What exactly did Sam Winchester have to feel guilty about?

* * *

Faith had learned a few things since her arrival. One of which was that the demon researching types were always book hoarders. Bobby Singer's house was not at all what she had been expecting from the junkyard and dilapidated exterior of his home. Inside was proof of what she'd already guessed, the old guy was smarter than he looked. She had a feeling Giles would have been in Watcher heaven, digging through the man's stacks of lore. If anything, the books, notes, charts…all of that left her concluding that her instincts were also right about him being a pro. This family, they hunted evil, and they knew their stuff.

And there was another thing she'd quickly picked up on. Their stuff was not her stuff. Faith had a feeling that Willow and her witchy mojo might have been able to feel out exactly where demons had gone so sideways on the evolutionary track here in this universe, but the rules, somewhere down the line, had been changed. It had taken her one short, baited joke about vampire stakes for her to realize that they weren't on the same monster-page.

Sure, that was fair, she thought, snidely. Toss a girl in another 'verse and throw out the rule-book along the way. God, how she frickin' hated homework, but it looked like she'd need to thumb through some of Bobby's tomes if she wanted to pretend to be another 'hunter' who knew her shit.

With a groan at the thought, Faith pushed herself up from her makeshift cot. The metal beneath her echoed the sentiment, sounding as worn out and used up as she felt. Still, as uncomfortable as the bed was, she'd slept in worse, and the Slayer-vision dreams hadn't visited her throughout the night. Definitely a plus.

Faith swung her legs over the edge, feet landing on the thin rug over the cement floor. She'd peeked the night before and not been disappointed to find a big-ass pentagram painted beneath. Seemed Bobby wasn't taking any chances with his visitor. Probably why he'd told her she could sleep in the "basement room" for the night. Faith had pretended not to hear the upstairs lock slide into place before the guys had lumbered off to their own beds. She wouldn't be surprised if they'd taken turns keeping watch, and only partly because there was a demon hunting half of them.

The post-lasagna interrogation the night before hadn't gone too badly, likely, she guessed, because the hunters were as tired as she was and anxious to reinforce any demon traps around Singer's house. So far, she'd told them her name, the fact that she'd had run-ins with big-bad monsters in the past, and the last place she remembered being before the yellow-eyed shitstorm: "Cleveland, visiting friends." Not a lie. Just not their Cleveland, exactly. When they'd asked her if she had any hunting pals who could verify who she was, she'd shrugged it off, with a, "I don't play well with others."

It wasn't enough to satisfy them, not by a long-shot, but she figured lying and pretending to be a preschool teacher or some shit wouldn't fly. She wasn't nearly freaked out enough by this mess to be Average Jane. Thankfully, the vampire poke had left them thinking she was a newbie. That might help her case for the moment.

What happened when they started to dig? She wasn't sure. The truth might be a bit much to handle, even for demon hunters. Especially with the whole, "here to kill your boy Sam," part in the middle.

Faith gave her pile of clothes a glance before deciding to let them air out a bit longer. The oversized t-shirt she'd been thrown smelled like motor oil, but it was comfortable and clung to her hips. She left it on as she crept out of the room and toward the stair case up to the ground floor.

It wasn't until she was halfway up that she realized the morning sounds weren't just the usual moving about. Someone new was upstairs. Sounded like a woman's voice.

Faith moved up closer to the door, but didn't bother to try the handle. Breaking locks wasn't a way to win anyone over, she'd learned. Neither was using a slayer's enhanced hearing to listen in on a conversation, but no one was perfect.

Faith closed her eyes, concentrating. It sounded like they were near the kitchen, and the conversation wasn't heated. Probably not a visit from a big bad, then. She caught one of the guys asking a question. _Ellen_ , they called the woman. They hadn't mentioned an Ellen the night before, so maybe they hadn't been expecting her.

" _...Ash called, told me to look in the safe…"_

Faith's brow wrinkled when she heard the boys chip in, obviously looking at something Ellen had produced for them. A map of Wyoming. Faith didn't know what the hell that had to do with anything, but the guys were getting antsy, bringing up omens, railroads, a devil's trap. Demons, the _Exorcist_ variety, she was quickly learning. Apparently monsters were just monsters in this place.

Dean's voice pulled her from that thought. _"What if Colt wasn't trying to keep demons out? What if he was trying to keep something in?"_

" _No way a full blood demon gets across,"_ Bobby barked.

" _No, but…"_

Whatever Sam was about to say was lost. Faith wasn't sure what had made him trail off, but she knew what he'd been about to say, that humans could get across. Humans like the ones that yellow-eyed jackass had been toying with, his special children, as he'd called them. Faith wished she knew how to connect the dots here, but it was obvious the guys outside had a bit more info they weren't sharing with her. Especially Sam.

That boy knew something. And why wouldn't he? The first slayer said he was connected to it all. An innocent victim, but still connected.

"Just walk away, Faith," she muttered to herself. "Take the money and run, dumbass."

Not that there was actual money involved, but freedom had its value.

She let out a sigh, frustrated with herself. There had been a minute, she was sure, right after the Hellmouth turned into a crater, when she'd been stupid enough to believe she might be able to stop making bad decisions. Use the collapse as a fresh start. Of course, that moment had come and gone quickly. She hadn't quite fallen back to homicide (until recently offers were put on the table, obviously), but she wasn't the mentor to the young army of slayers that she'd momentarily believed she might have a chance of being. She blamed Robin for getting her hopes up like that. Still blamed him, as a matter of fact, but she had to admit, she hadn't, in at least a good six months or so, fallen back on old habits. So, it was a real kick in the pants knowing she was going to be doing exactly the wrong thing by trying to do the right thing.

Not. Fucking. Fair.

She rapped her knuckles on the basement door. "Yo, Winchester," she called, "mind giving a girl a cup of coffee when you kidnap her?"

The voices in the house went quiet, then were replaced by whispers. Probably explaining who the hell the chick locked in the basement was to this Ellen lady. Faith waited patiently, elbow propped on the door frame, until the clunk of heavy boots stopped in front of the door. The bolt slid out of the lock with a sharp click.

Dean opened the door slowly, looking somewhat abashed with a forced smile on his face. He was a sight for sore eyes, and as frustrated as her current situation was making her, Faith couldn't help but size him with a long, lazy look. After all, she had a time-honored method for dealing with frustration. Still. Didn't seem polite to flash a leg at the moment, even if her lack of pants did the job for her. A different time, a different Faith, and a bit of blood spilled the night before would have been considered foreplay for her. Sometimes she hated taking off the bad girl hat. Feelings sucked.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, looks like the door, eh, jammed."

Faith raised a brow. "Yeah. Sure. And here I was thinking your pal Bobby was just a kinky bastard with locks on his basement love bunker."

Dean blinked, obviously thrown. "We didn't kidnap you," Dean clarified. "You came with us, remember? And please don't put the words Bobby and love bunker in the same sentence again. Ever."

Faith smirked, glad to see him rattled. "Coffee, sugar."

Dean glanced down at her legs, appreciation flashing across his face before he shut it down. "Pants. Before you give Bobby a stroke," he countered, and looked like it actually pained him to say those words. "There's a bathroom down this hall, if you want a shower. Breakfast will be waiting when you come back up. Then we need to talk."

Faith tilted her head. "Such a gentleman," she chided.

"Not really," Dean promised. He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but shook his head. "I wanted to say, last night… There wasn't really a good time. But, thanks."

Faith paused. "For what?"

Dean's brow wrinkled in thought. "For saving my brother," he said. His voice caught, rough around the edges. "I saw…I mean, if you hadn't taken that other guy out…You saved Sam. I won't forget."

Faith shrugged her shoulder, uncomfortable with the sincere look in those eyes of his. "Yeah, well, what kind of dick stabs someone in the back anyway?"

 _The kind of dick I stab in the front_ , she thought, bitterly.

"I'm trying to thank you," Dean said, his voice quieter.

She grimaced, holding down the answer circling in her head: _"For what? For not killing Sam or for ending the world?"_

Faith grabbed the door knob out of his hand, pulling it closed. "Don't," she said, before it snapped shut. She held her weight against the door, letting it hold her up a moment, and happy when she heard footsteps leading away.

* * *

Dean wasn't sure he'd ever met a woman worse at taking a thank you.

On the one hand, he was certain there was more to her story than the few scraps she'd fed them the night before, and her whole presence gave him a chill. Hell, she didn't even deny that she was a little different from the norm, but how different was something he still hadn't figured out. On the other hand, though, if she was some evil dick just waiting for a chance to cut their throats, why was she so damn bad at playing her part? 'Cause honestly, the demons they'd met were better at pretending to be damsels in distress than Faith.

If she wanted to seduce him to get closer to the hunters, then she was halfway there. But, Dean thought with a hard swallow, she could have already had him with his jeans around his ankles if that was a goal. Because, hot damn, those legs.

He was still shaking his head over the woman when he plopped down on the sofa near Bobby's desk. Sam had moved the map over to another table and was staring at it with such intensity that Dean was surprised when he cleared his throat.

"She okay?" Sam asked, eyes darting up.

"Hope Bobby left her some breakfast," Dean answered instead. "Lady's grumpy without her java."

Sam huffed out a laugh, but he sobered quickly. "I can't believe it let us leave."

"Let?" Dean asked. "You escaped, Sam. And it was mostly luck, just like it was for Ellen. Now, I'm not stupid enough to believe this is over with, but that doesn't mean we can't get ahead of whatever that bastard is planning. The fact that two of you got out instead of one, that wasn't what he wanted."

"Hopefully," Sam muttered. He took a deep breath, switching subjects. "Bobby's helping Ellen get settled for a bit before he starts gathering supplies, but they're both itching to move on this thing in Wyoming. So am I. If we really do have a chance of getting in front of this, the devil's trap might be it."

"Yeah, well, we kind of need to find a place to put our houseguest before we head out," Dean commented, but even he knew it sounded more like a question than a statement.

Sam raised a brow. "You trust her to come with us?"

"Nah. Doesn't trust me to stay behind though, right?"

The answer came from the doorway. Dean barely stopped himself from jumping out of his seat. Faith was standing in the door to the hallway, toweling out her wet hair. She was back in the baggy shirt they'd loaned her (and, Jesus, Dean didn't like the heat he felt when he realized he liked the way she looked in his shirt), but, thankfully, she'd slipped her pants on.

"Girl takes fast showers," Dean commented, breaking the tension.

"Like 'em slow, too, when the mood hits me," she said, a crooked smile on her face when she met his eye. "Long as they're hot, I'm good."

Sam coughed awkwardly into his sling. "Hey, Faith," he said, in greeting. "We were just going over a possible hunt."

"I picked up on that," she noted, then made herself comfortable on the edge of the desk. "Wyoming, you said, right? That where your Big Bad is headed?"

Dean pushed himself up off the sofa. "Demonic omens are lighting up the area, but they're all skipping out on one chunk of real-estate. We're thinking that we need to find out why. You interested?"

"Sure. Might also like to kick some ass," she replied. "This a 'keep your potential enemies closer' type situation?"

Dean winked at her. "Who wouldn't want to keep you close?"

"Seriously?" Sam rolled his eyes. He turned his attention back to Faith, wearing a tight frown. "Listen, Faith, this is going to be dangerous. You don't have to be a part of it. You could go the other way and not look back. We could give you some protection sigils, maybe some ways to hide your tracks from the demon for a while. You don't to be a part of this fight."

Sam was right. Dean dropped his gaze, ashamed he wasn't pushing her to do just that. There was barely a chance they'd make it out of this alive. Dragging someone else along was akin to murder.

"Yeah, hate to break it to you, Sam, but it's kind of my fight too," she replied.

Dean looked up to see a somewhat startled look on her face, like she hadn't expected to give that answer.

"Now it is," she said, as an almost whispered afterthought.

Dean didn't like to see that sad look on her face, especially with it directed at Sam, as if she pitied him. It was almost as good saying they didn't have a chance in hell of winning. Yet, she was tagging along anyway. Dean didn't know if that made her an idiot or a hunter.

He shook his head toward the kitchen. "Get you a bite while the eggs are warm. We're heading out before lunch."

She stared from one Winchester to the other, as if she was expecting someone to change their minds. "Alright then. I'll need to borrow some toys."

Sam nodded. "Bobby has you covered."

She disappeared around the corner, shouting back something about the coffeemaker. Bobby barked an answer from the other room, and Dean found himself shaking his head again in wonder.

"This could go sideways in a hurry," he said, mostly to himself.

"I just want it to be over."

The quiet confession from Sam left Dean feeling sick. He stepped over to the desk seat, gripping his brother's shoulder tightly. "We're going to get through this," Dean promised. It was empty, not a promise he could keep, but he willed it with all he had. His eyes flickered back up to the doorway. "Long as we're together."


	4. Beat the Devil

The world was gray. Faith was certain it was her imagination, but it seemed like there was a constant cloud following them when they hit the road. Maybe bright and sunny days just didn't exist here. Or maybe she'd brought this storm with her, when she arrived.

A late start wasn't their friend. They'd spent most the daylight on the road, and it was dusk now, a hint of lavender bringing on the night. Faith wasn't worried about the time of day, though. She did most of her best work when it was pitch black out. No, it was the destination that was bothering her.

The guys had filled her in on the way there, given her the info on Samuel Colt, the man who made a demon killing gun, and apparently constructed a big ass iron symbol to hide a cemetery from devil radar or whatever.

Faith felt a little sick after the boys told her that part. She'd already overheard most of this conversation, but it made more sense now. She had a piece of info they didn't.

Right after the fall of Sunnydale, G-man had been talking about Hellmouth with the Scoobs, and she'd actually paid attention this time. There was a mention of potential thin spots, where a Hellmouth could be formed. One in Ohio. Hence the Cleveland base they set up in the states. But Faith was almost positive he mentioned there being rumor of a "thin spot" in Wyoming, and this world was too like hers for it not to have at least a few similar supernatural hotspots. Not a chance that was a coincidence. Not when the hunters were already certain this Colt guy had built his trap to keep something inside.

Faith was suddenly sure she understood why the Yellow Eyed Demon they were after would be here. Every villain worth his salt wanted to open a goddamn Hellmouth, didn't they?

She considered bringing the idea up to the Winchesters and squashed it. Any explanation would take more work than she was willing to do.

"Ellen said she'd never heard of you at the Roadhouse," Dean said. "Let's face it, you'd stand out in that crowd."

Faith was certain he'd mentioned something earlier, the brothers spatting over something to do with the tape deck. She'd zoned out, lost in her own thoughts. A part of her wished she'd ridden in the car with Bobby and that Ellen lady instead of taking on the backseat of the Impala again. As much as she liked getting a glimpse of those pretty faces in the rearview mirror, what she really wanted to do was fish for some info on the Winchesters. She couldn't just come out an ask them what she needed to know, such as why the spirit of the first slayer said their dad ('late' from what little bit she'd picked up on) would have approve of offing his youngest.

"Listen, I've been to several Roadhouses, not a one of them hers. Never said otherwise. Sorry I don't have a list of hunters in my back pocket like you two," she commented. "If we're going to play the getting to know you game, I get to ask you a question now."

"Just making conversation," Dean said, defensively.

"And I'm just asking a question."

"We're almost there," Sam noted, as if to interrupt them.

Faith didn't doubt he was right. They'd turned off the main highway a while back and the backwood roads were starting to look decidedly spooky. Or maybe that was just her nerves narrating.

"Bobby raise you two?" she asked.

It wasn't the question she wanted to ask or even close, but for some reason, she was still interested in the answer.

"No," Dean answered. "We spent some time with Bobby growing up, but our dad raised us. John Winchester, he was a hunter too."

Sam make a little noise from the passenger's seat, and the brothers glanced at one another, as if having a silent argument. Touchy subject, John Winchester. Faith raised a brow. She hadn't intended for that question to stir the pot, but obviously there were some mixed feeling already there.

"When did he pass?"

They were quiet a moment before Sam cleared his throat. "Not long ago."

"Shit, sorry," Faith sighed, and pushed herself back in the seat. "So, this is a family business, huh? Our family's only business was alcoholism and gambling."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, well, there's whiskey under the seat."

"Shit, this really is like every first date I've ever been on." Faith didn't bother digging for the flask though. "You guys were raised knowing about the things that go bump, then?"

"Basically-"

The rest of the answer was cut off. Sam had seen what she'd just noticed, the long stretch of overgrown railroad iron up ahead of Bobby's old Chevelle. The older hunter was tapping his breaks, and the Impala slowed down as well.

"Should we just cross over it?" Sam asked Dean.

There wasn't an answer. Faith sucked in a breath as soon as she saw the shadow of something moving in the brush to their right. For a split second, Faith imagined she saw the murky outline of a hulking form on all fours, running, but the image was gone in a blink. Before she could question it, something hit the Chevelle at full force, denting into the side so hard the car raised onto two wheels and was sent skidding off the road and into the ditch. It landed at an angle against the grass bank, two tires blowing on impact.

"What the fuck!" Dean snapped, slamming on his breaks before he ran into the tail of Bobby's car.

The guys were out of the Impala in a second flat, and Faith jumped out behind Dean, following them toward the beaten Chevelle. She slid to a stop before she reached the front, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. When she spun around, there was nothing there, not anything she could see at least.

"It's still here," she warned. She raised her voice. "It's still watching us."

There was a loud creak of metal on the passenger's side, as Sam helped Ellen out of the car, but Dean had stilled entirely, obviously feeling the same unease.

"What the hell was it?" Ellen asked, her voice dragging slightly.

Faith shot the woman a look. Her forehead was covered in a bright red smear, but she seemed to at least be standing on her own, with a balancing hand from Sam. Her eyes weren't focused, though, and Faith took that as a bad sign.

The group quieted without answering. Something moved closer to the road, the sound of a scraping claw on blacktop. It was the only warning they had before the back bumper dented in, the metal crumpling beneath a massive weight. The roof of the Chevelle popped and cratered as the invisible beast's weight hit center, then shook the body as it hopped off from the front.

"Hellhound. The demon knows we're here. We need to get Bobby out. NOW!" Dean snapped. "Get Ellen in the Impala, Sam."

Faith realized she was the backup Dean was waiting for, and she knew why as soon as she saw the fold in the metal over the driver's size door where it was wedged shut by the blow, its handle long gone. Past the shattered glass, Bobby's head lulled back, as if he was barely conscious. Dean crossed over to the passenger's side where Ellen had been moment's earlier, only to have something slam that door shut, nearly knocking him back. Faith reached out for his arm, pulling Dean toward the road just as a the grass and gravel beneath split under vicious claws.

Dean sprung back up at her side, watching the empty spot in front of them for movement. Faith elbowed him over silently, edging their way back around to the other side of the ditch.

"No time to be dainty," Faith said and reached out, gripping the hole where the handle had been. The metal screeched and moaned as she pulled. The driver's side door gave way, collapsing off once it was free. Dean dove forward around her, pulling at Bobby until the men were both stumbling out and way.

"Damn, She-Hulk, how strong are you?" Dean asked, huffing as he half-carried Bobby up the shallow bank. As if on second thought, he reached down, where the trunk had been jarred open, and grabbed for something blindly.

"You wouldn't like me when I'm angry," Faith answered, watching out for the pair.

A headlight busted as something scraped the front of the hood again, and Faith braced herself for the creature to move again. A scatter shot rang out from behind. It must have hit its mark because there was a short, angry growl from in front of her.

"Faith!"

She reached out on instinct, catching the iron crowbar tossed her way. Dean was pushing his way back from a few yards away, a sawed-off shotgun raised high. So that was what he'd been looting from the back of the car, she thought. She could see Bobby behind Dean, trying his damnedest to stumble toward the Impala, a hand held to his bleeding nose.

"If Giles only knew all that dumbass blindfold training actually came in handy," she muttered, swinging out blindly with the bar. It didn't hit a mark, but she hoped the thing was still somewhere in front of them.

She all but ran backward, nearly slamming into Dean's side. She spared a glance only to find his attention was no longer on watching their ten o'clock. He was staring at the Impala with wide, terrified eyes, and she wondered if he saw it, too, the glimpse of the beast she'd seen earlier. It took her another beat to realize what he was really looking out, or wasn't. Ellen was propped up in the backseat, unconscious, her legs still hanging out the open door. The trunk was popped, probably to look for weapons… But Sam wasn't standing at it or sitting in the car. Faith felt her face go cold; he was gone. Sam was gone.

"Sam!" Dean screamed out toward the brush. "Sammy!"

* * *

"Oh, Sammy boy, I knew I'd bet on the right pony with you. Congratulations, champ. You've made it to the next round."

Sam spun around, disoriented, but he managed to stay standing. How he'd gotten here, he wasn't sure. One moment, he'd been standing at the back of the Impala, and the next… He froze when he saw the speaker sitting on a fallen log. The demon was leaning forward, arms resting on his legs, hands clasped, the expression on his face more patience than expected.

"Dean," Sam breathed, suddenly remembering his family had been left behind. "It was a hellhound," he said, louder. "Yours."

The demon spread his hands, as if confessing. "Got me, kiddo. An angry bitch, that one, and she's going to rip the people you love into pretty flesh ribbons if I snap my fingers."

Sam felt as if his chest might at explode. He took a shaky breath. "You want inside Colt's trap."

"See, I knew you were smart," the demon said. "Thing is, I don't even have to get inside myself. Not if you're willing to run a little errand for me. In and out in just a few painless minutes. What do ya say, Sammy?"

"Screw you," Sam hissed. "What's in that place? What was it that was worth the lives of all of your " _special children"_?"

"Oh, I think you know," the demon chided. "It's a door. Pretty simple door, actually, but it leads to a place that, well, is near and dear to my heart."

Sam's eyes widened. "It's a hellgate, isn't it?"

" _Ding ding ding_." The demon chuckled. "Listen, I can see how opening a door to Hell might be a bit of a gray area for you."

"It's not going to happen. We're not going to help you."

The demon cocked his head. "We?"

"I know that you don't want Faith and me just to cross over a boundary for you. We're not going to play along with your plans."

"The girl? Faith. That was her name, then." The demon shook his head with a short laugh. "Oh, son, didn't you hear me the first time. You won this race. She'd not even in it. You thought she was your 'special' sis, huh? Can't lay claim on that fine piece of real estate. I've got to admit, I wasn't expecting her to pop in and turn my game upside down. Still, kind of glad she stepped in when she did. Jake just didn't seem to have the 'be all you can be' spirit as advertised." His eyes narrowed slightly and turned a murky yellow, and his voice was harsher when it returned. "I should thank her."

Sam's brow wrinkled in confusion. "She's not…" He shook his head. That didn't matter. As long as Faith wasn't working with the demon, he could put her at the back of his mind for the moment. He had bigger problems. "What do you want?"

"You got it in one," the demon assured. "I want the gate to open, and I want you to lead whatever comes out. You want to play the hero? You want to make sure we don't hurt the innocent? No better way to do that to be the one leading the soldiers away from the villagers."

Sam made a face. "I'm not releasing a demon army. You're insane. You can threaten all you want, and that's not going to make me do what you want."

"I can, and will, threaten that big brother and that stand-in uncle you've got back there," the demon said, sounding bored, "but I know killing them right now won't get me what I need. You Winchesters are vengeful types, I've learned. Let's try the path of least destruction first. Let's bargain. What do ya say?"

"I'm not making a deal."

"No, no, of course not." Yellow eyes locked onto Sam, a genuine smile beneath. "You've got entirely the wrong impression here. You see the end of the world. I see a beginning. Do you really think those souls downstairs deserve what they get? You and big brother, you do everything in your power to save lives, but what about souls? You're going to tell me it sits well with you, leaving people to suffer?"

"Are you honestly trying to convince me you're doing this for the souls of Hell?" Sam scoffed.

"So what if some of them deserve to be there? Not all of them do. Not everyone in Hell is a serial killer or pedophile." The demon tilted his head in thought. "Like that daddy of yours. Sure, Johnny could have paid a bit more attention to your report cards, but surely you don't want to see him burn for eternity, right?"

Sam tasted vomit at the back of his throat. There was a part of him that planned for the demon to bring up his father, but he still wasn't prepared for his soul to be put on the table. "You put him there."

The demon shrugged. "Technically he put himself there, but okay. I'll take the blame. So, how 'bout this. You open this door for me, and I get one demon out instead of an army." He raised a finger. "Just the one. Someone who matters dearly to me. And I let your father's soul zip out with my special lady, have him waiting at the door for us, as it were. What do you say, Sam?"

Sam swallowed hard. He could hear his name in the distance, being screamed out. Dean wasn't far. "I say screw you," he bit.

The demon stood slowly. "Plan B it is, then."

It felt like he'd been hit by a car. One second he was standing, then the next he was on his back, breathless. Sam struggled to move, but his limbs didn't so much as twitch. The demon loomed over him, a disappointed frown on his face.

"See, the first time I visited you, Sammy, it was just to get me in your system. I think what you need is a little taste of freedom, a pick-me-up." The demon lifted his wrist, running one nail against the flesh. "Better than mother's milk."

The red rained down.

* * *

It was a low and steady hum blocking out the rest of the world. Dean couldn't hear her, screaming at him, but he could see her face, her lips moving. She was trying to tell him something. Faith looked small. He hadn't really noticed what a petite woman she really was until she was standing in front of him, shaking him. Petite but entirely too strong, if the grip on his upper arms was any indicator. He stared through her, past her, into the Impala, where Bobby was forcing himself behind the driver's side, barely able to move, but bringing the engine to life easily enough. Ellen was still out in the back, but someone had rolled her the rest of the way inside and shut her door.

"Sam," she said.

The word bled in, broke him. He could hear himself shouting now, screaming out for his brother. He choked on the last call, giving Faith a chance to interrupt.

"We've got to stay alive if we're going to save Sam," she repeated. "You hear me, Dean? Get your shit together."

The comment came out soft instead of the harsh bark he was expecting. He nodded once. When he blinked, he saw it, midair, then suddenly flying their way, the Chevelle's battered car door, flung like a Frisbee. Without a word, he hooked an arm around Faith, pulling her toward him. They toppled back, Dean landing hard on his shoulder and wincing at the jarring pain. The heavy metal scraped a deep, sparking line across the top of the Impala, then passed right over the area where Faith's head had been a second earlier. It landed with a hard clatter behind them.

Faith lifted herself up off of him, a hand buried in his jacket, pulling him with her. Still on one knee, she shifted toward the Impala.

"Drive!" she snapped.

The wheels of the Impala spun, squealing, and the car shot forward. Dean half expected it to slam into the invisible beast, but the creature must have moved. The Impala skid to a stop right over the iron barrier. Bobby and Ellen were safe, but Dean was suddenly aware of how exposed he and Faith were on the road.

Faith straightened, crowbar raised. Dean hadn't even spotted a hint of movement, but as soon as the woman found her stance, something grabbed hold of the bar, jerking it and growling low. Faith didn't lose her grip, letting herself be slung to the side instead. Dean knelt back down, fingers finding his shotgun. Before he could raise it, something pulled at him, a claw ripping into the denim of his jeans as if they were made of satin. He didn't even register the pain until a scream was ripping its way out of his throat.

Faith cried out for him, but he knew she would be a second too late.

"Heel, pup."

Hot, sulfurous breath poured over his face, but the end didn't come. Dean opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed. Faith was standing a few feet back, a tilt of her head telling him she was eyeing the devil's trap, less than fifty yards from her position, where Bobby was pulling himself out of the Impala, looking dazed. She could make it that far before the hellhound caught her. She didn't move, though, turning her attention to something past him.

Dean twisted his neck and saw them, strolling out of the sparse thicket against the road. Sam. Sam was right there, still alive. So was the son of a bitch who'd taken him. The demon was at Sam's side, one hand on the hunter's back, like he was guiding him, the other at his side and holding a long barreled handgun. The Colt. Right there in the open.

Dean's mouth went dry. He tried to move and winced when pain shot up his leg. A glimpse down showed him a tear in his thigh, blood spilling too freely. He could almost feel the creature still nearly, the hellhound that had torn into him.

"Dean!"

The shout came from Sam, but he didn't run forward, stock frozen beside the demon. Dean hadn't noticed it until then, the blood on Sam's face. There was a long, dripping line of red out of the corner of Sam's mouth.

"Oh, Dean-o, don't worry, Sammy's not hurt," the demon said, lips twitching with a hidden grin. "In fact, he's never been better, have you, Sam?"

Dean knew he wasn't thinking clearly, the pain leaving everything foggy, but he recognized what shame looked like on his brother's face. Sam's lips parted, like he wanted to speak, but he closed them again, his eyes glassy and wet.

"Say, Dean," the demon said, his voice almost giddy, "ever wonder what exactly made your brother so special? Or did you think he was born that way? Like one of the X-Men, a cool new genetic freak, ready to use his powers to save humanity. Not quite. Though, you could say it's all in the blood."

"Please, don't," Sam begged.

"You mean you didn't tell big brother about our fun blast to the past in Cold Oaks?" The demon feigned surprise, then turned his attention back to Dean. "You know what I did, when I visited your brother's nursery that night, Dean-o? Right before I lit Momma up like a firecracker? I slipped baby Sammy a little taste of demon's blood. Knew it would make him grow up big and strong like I needed him to. In fact, all my special children got a taste early on. I wonder, would you have sacrificed all those years, taking care of Sammy, wiping snotty noses and making grill cheese sandwiches, if you'd known you were caring for a tiny piece of the demon that killed your _mommy_?"

"I'm gonna kill you, you bastard," Dean grimaced.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam said, quietly.

Dean felt sick, but he held it down, locking eyes with his brother. He didn't want to think about any of this. He didn't want to see the blood on his brother's chin and know. he didn't want to hear his father's voice echoing in his head. "It's okay, Sammy. It's okay," he promised.

"See, that's sweet." The demon slapped Sam on the back lightly. "See, champ, that's unconditional love right there, but you know what would really help ease your brother into this? A reunion. Now, on the one hand, it's fairly easy for me to get your brother to ol' daddy's new pad."

Dean gasped, feeling the weight of a heavy paw on his chest, pushing him down.

"On the other hand," the demon continued. "It's just as easy for you to bring Pops here. Think about it, Sam. There's no reason to fight me. And even if you try, my blood is in you, filling your belly, pumping in your veins. You're my right hand. But you're my special boy, so I want you to feel you have some control in this."

"That's bullshit."

Dean had almost forgotten Faith was still standing there. The woman didn't seem like the quiet type, but she'd been silent as a church mouse during the demon's arrival. Dean glanced her way, surprised at the look of annoyance on her face.

"Sam, he doesn't control you," she snapped. "You've got demon essence in you, not an actual demon. It's a big fucking difference."

"Potty mouth," the demon chided. "You know, if you were my girl, I'd bend you over my knee." He paused, smirking. "Granted, from what I've heard from Sam, you've been masquerading as one of my special children since our little run in. I told you then, and I'll tell you again. Your bloodline doesn't have a stake in this race. Back off."

She'd lied. Dean had bet on that from the beginning, but hearing it felt like another kick to the stomach. There had been something genuine in her big brown eyes: guilt.

"You don't know shit about my bloodline or what I am," she assured them. Her attention shifted to Sam. "Look, I let you believe what you wanted to believe. My bad. But I'm telling you the truth right now, Sam. I know what you're going through. I know what it is to have darkness fueling your strength. But that shit doesn't control you. And you don't have to let it take a driver's seat. No matter what he says. You can tell that part of you no."

"You sure about that, Faith?" the demon asked. "Because I have a feeling you don't know the faintest thing about being in control of yourself. I've see that wild look before. I know your type. You're a killer. I can almost smell it on your soul. Was this even your idea? Coming here? Playing with my toys? Or did someone send you just to piss me off?"

Faith was quiet a moment. "Yeah. Someone did send me. To stop you. I'm deciding how."

The demon laughed. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no clue what's even happening here. You're a pawn. And,see, Sammy's high on what I'm selling right now. He's going to do what I want him to do, because he knows it's the only way his family gets out of this alive. _All_ of his family. Lucky for me, you're not actually important to him."

"I'll do it," Sam interrupted. "Just stop."

"Sammy," Dean breathed, when the hellhound moved off his chest.

He heard the beast move when it tapped the car door laying on the road, leaving it spinning. Sam tracked the movement with his eyes then moved his focus to his brother, shaking his head to ask him to stop speaking. Dean held back what he wanted to say, confused by the look in his brother's eyes.

"I'll do what you want me to do," Sam said again.

The demon chuckled. "There we go, kiddo." He pointed at Sam like a proud father. "This boy knows what he's doing. He's going places." The demon raised the Colt in his other hand. "The first of those places being Hell's doorway."

"Just the one demon. And my father," Sam said, his brow wrinkled in thought. "That's all."

"You don't want to lead an army, then you don't have to lead an army," the demon assured. "This is the right choice, Sam. The only choice. I just want what's best for you. You'll see."

"What do I do?"

Dean closed his eyes, moving his fisted hand to his forehead, trying to block it out. He couldn't just lay here, couldn't be a witness to his brother doing what the demon wanted. Something hit the bottom of his boot, forcing him to look. It was Faith. She'd moved close to him and had her hand outreached for his. Forcing himself to sit up, he took it. He half-expected the hound to grab hold him, force him back down, but it didn't happen.

Faith jutted her chin back toward the ditch. Dean didn't understand what she wanted him to see, until he noticed what's she'd seen. There was movement near the brush. Why was the hound so far away? Dean hoped to God it wasn't because it was getting ready to spring on Sam.

"Oh, it's easy," the demon said. "Old Samuel Colt used this gun of his as a key to the gate. Talented human that he was. All you need to do is cross the barrier and find the door. I'll place a call from here, make sure they're ready on the other side."

The demon held out the gun.

"You're going to give me the only weapon that can kill you?" Sam huffed. "You think I'm going to fall for that?"

"You're going to kill the only person who knows how to summon your father's soul to the gate?" the demon returned. "Not to mention that it will, quite literally, take a snap of my figures to turn the hound on dear Dean. My dying act would be to drag his soul to Hell. Tell me, am I lying?"

Sam shook his head. "I believe you."

He reached out, gently picking up the Colt. He held it by its handle, turning it, as if the get another good look at it from the side. Dean's heart broke to watch him. He knew what his brother was thinking, how that gun had looked like the answer to all their problems when they'd found out about it. And now it would be their downfall.

"Why would Colt even make a key?" Sam asked, staring down at it.

The demon shrugged. "You humans and your contradictions," he noted. "Go ahead, Sammy boy. Get a move on. The sooner you do what you need to do, the sooner this is all over with. Dean doesn't look like he has much time for you to waste."

Sam nodded. "Maybe Colt made this the key, because…" He trailed off, then looked up at the demon, his head cocked in thought. "Maybe because he knew that if demons thought they could use it to open Hell's door, they wouldn't destroy the one thing that could take them out." He tilted the gun, turning it on the demon. "This is for our Mom."

The shot rang out, muted in Dean's ears. He didn't believe. He didn't believe it had been fired until he saw the red dot on the demon's head, the look of shock in its yellow eyes. Its body lit up, like a fire had sparked beneath the skin, the silhouette of the skull flickering brightly under the flesh. Not quickly enough. The demon moved its hand as it sputtered to its end, the click of its fingers snapping louder than the gun shot.

Dean braced for the hit, but the hound didn't pounce.

Instead, Sam had the hand peeking of his sling outstretched, toward the ditch, his fingers trembling as if he were holding something back. A line of red dripped down his nose, effort leaving his body shaking as he dropped the Colt to the ground.

"Your blood, your power," he bit. "Bet you're regretting that pick-me-up."

The demon's body dropped as a long-dead corpse. Sam turned, looking to his brother with a dim smile on his face, before his knees went out and he fell. Dean wished he could have been there to catch him.


	5. Slayer

**Warning: This chapter is rated Hard R. In fact, if anyone thinks it's a bit too hard R for this site, let me know so I can edit it slightly.**

* * *

Faith's eyes darted to the monitor, the way they tended to do, and then back down to Dean's face. He was pale, the freckles under his eye lashes standing out. She could feel another set of eyes watching her, watching him. When she turned, Sam was still sitting in the reclining chair across the room, staring at her with confusion in his gaze.

They'd been like that for a while now. Pretending the reason they were quiet was because Dean needed to get some rest. Anything to assure they could all get checked out of the hospital the next day, before the authorities started investigating their claim of a car accident. Or found the body they'd had to stash in the cemetery. They figured the yellow-eyed-demon's host could rest easy inside the trap, and that he'd be a hell of a lot harder to explain outside it.

Bobby, despite the slur in his voice from the headwound, had done most of the talking when they'd had Dean admitted. They were keeping Ellen for observation, too, not liking the concussion that had her drifting in and out.

Dean had nearly bled out before they'd gotten Sam awake.

Faith didn't like the flip her stomach did when she thought about that blood pooling under him. Nights spent fighting monsters and days next to superhuman girls, she sometimes forgot just out fragile humans could be. One nick to an artery and too many long minutes spent talking instead of fighting, and… She closed her eyes, cutting off that thought.

He was alive. They all were. The demon was done. Hell was closed. But dread still pooled inside her, threatening to spill out.

Sam staring at her wasn't helping matters.

"You can go if you want," he said, at a near whisper.

She knew Dean was doped up and running on fumes from his transfusion, but she still looked his way again, as if to make sure he hadn't woken. She knew what Sam was offering her with those words. If she went back with them, back to Bobby's, faced them all, it would be the Spanish Inquisition. She'd have to explain everything. Then she'd have to do it all over again when they didn't believe her story. She was exhausted just thinking of the conversation. Sam was giving her an out.

"You not going to ask?" she said, when she was sure Dean wasn't going to wake up and hear them.

Sam shrugged his good shoulder. He looked beaten and worn still from Cold Oaks, but there was rosy glow in his cheeks, and energy. She worried about where that energy was coming from.

He'd told Bobby. She'd heard him, on the way to the hospital. Sam had told Bobby he'd been able to control the hellhound, just with his thoughts. Just like a demon. That was how he'd been so sure he could shoot first without getting them killed.

This was what her dream had been warning her about.

"I'm called a Slayer," she said. It spilled out, like it had been waiting for a chance. "Think super-hunter. My powers popped up like yours did, when I was a teenager, but only because the slayer before me kicked the bucket. That's kind of how it works. Used to be, at least."

"Your powers come from a demon." It wasn't a question. Sam chewed his lip. "I've never heard of a slayer in any of the lore."

"You wouldn't. I'm not from around here." At the look on his face, she sighed. "I'm not good at this part. At explaining mystical shit. Never even paid attention when Red tried to give me the mojo breakdown. Let's just say, where I'm from, things are a lot like they are here. Lots of creature features and most the same people. Same president in the white house somehow. Same AC/DC. It's the little things that seem sideways, like vampires. Those are different, and I'd know. Slayers are kind of known for their skills with vampires. It's a whole thing."

Sam blinked at her, like he wasn't quiet sure he was awake at the moment. "You're trying to tell me you're from sort of parallel world?"

"Sounds like a fucking comic book when you say it that way," Faith said. She leaned forward. "I got buddies who've seen other dimensions, places far from Earth, but they're all weird, alien like. This place is basically home. If home didn't have me in it, ya know?"

"Like a mirror universe." Sam's brow wrinkled. "How'd you get here?"

Faith's eyes widened. "You actually believe me? Shit, I barely believe me."

"I can't prove otherwise," Sam said with a crooked grin. "How'd you get here?"

"I followed a demon down a rabbit hole. It was a weird trip. In and out and I can't even remember most if it, but when I hit land I was in that old ghost town." Faith hesitated. It would be easy enough to leave the story there, but she didn't want to. A part of her wanted to see what she expected on Sam's face, that look of fear and distrust. That's what he should be feeling right now. "I got a lead, one that told me to take that plunge, though. Sometimes I have dreams, like not normal ones. Usually they're vague, maybe a vision of some battle to come. Cosmic riddle shit, ya know?"

Sam huffed. "Yeah. I do, actually. Mine were related to the yellow-eyed demon." He looked down, finding his knees suddenly interesting. "I guess we know why now. It's his blood in me. Still in me. That's the connection."

"Yeah, well." Faith shifted, uncomfortable. "Some people might think that makes you evil or something. I think it's bull, personally. Power corrupts and all that, but doesn't have to, especially if you don't use it… Someone in the universe thought yours would corrupt you. I think."

Sam had a question in his eye. "It wasn't an accident, you landing in Cold Oaks."

"No. It wasn't. Some of my dreams, I hear from this being. She's the spirit of the first girl who became a slayer way back whenever, ya know? She's wild, more beast than babe. Her own people thought she was too much like the demons she'd saved them from and kicked her out of society. She showed me an image of you. Asked me to kill Sam Winchester."

Sam stared at her, and she waited to see that fear behind his eyes. Instead, there was that kicked-puppy sadness he'd been sporting since the demon had snatched him. Faith wanted to reach across, slap him just to get a different reaction.

"My dad…" Sam swallowed hard. "When he knew he was dying, my dad told Dean to save me, and if he couldn't save me, he'd have to kill me. You wouldn't have been the first hunter set on killing me. So, why'd you save me instead?"

Faith's eyes flickered to Dean. He'd rolled slightly in his sleep, his stitched up leg still propped high, but she could see his chest moving as he breathed. He was still out of it.

"I've been thinking about that," she said, quietly. Then she looked back to Sam. "I told you shit was complicated with the slayers, right? I've got sister slayers, living ones who still have our power, back where I'm from. Long story. But my point is, I thought Sineya, that first girl, I thought she'd picked me because she could see who I really was. I hurt some people, Sam. And I killed some people. Humans. I lost my fucking mind. Went dark. Then someone stopped me, and I had to face myself. I'll spend every day of my life trying to make up for what I did back then, but it won't be enough. I'm still the Dark Slayer to the people who give a damn. So I thought this spirit chose me for the mission because she knew I had that monster inside me."

She straightened, reaching out to touch the edge of Dean's bed. "But the thing is," she continued, "that bitch knows all of me. So she knows I'm not very good doing what I don't want to do. Self control being an issue and all. If she really wanted you dead, she should've picked another toy soldier. I don't know if she just sucks at her job, or if I'm right and there's some other reason she wanted me here. She's quiet when it matters, ya know? But any way around it, I think I was put here to lend a hand."

"Things would have gone differently without you, I'm sure … I don't know why," Sam said, shaking his head, "but I actually believe you. Every bit, Faith."

"Shit's too crazy to make up?"

"Something like that." Sam let out a long sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck. "How did she do it, that first girl? How'd she not become a monster?"

* * *

Dean liked bars. It was no well kept secret. His favorite part of walking into a new one was the way they always felt the same, no matter what small town he was rolling into. He knew how to blend in there, with its patrons, like he was at a family reunion, so he was glad that Faith Lehane had felt like a shot of whiskey tonight.

He nursed a warming beer, watching her from a booth seat as another half-drunk fool worked up the courage to walk up to her barstool. The woman whispered something in the guy's ear and he stumbled back, suddenly more interested in finding a seat far from hers. Dean smiled into his glass. That woman sure had a way with words. He would have loved to have heard what she told the guy.

Another long minute passed, and he wondered if tonight was a good night. If he'd get another chance to make a move before she packed up and ditched this town. The revenant she'd been after was toast once more, and it had taken him only a cursory glance to know she'd done the job right. Not that he doubted her abilities.

Sam had, after all, told her what she was, what she _really_ was.

That had been nearly two months ago, when he'd woken up in a hospital, already griping about being stuck there before he'd fully opened his eyes. It had all come flooding back to him, the hellhound, the demon, the blood on his brother's lips.

He was still amazed all of them had made it out of the battle alive. Some nights, he woke up thinking the demon was out there, trying to destroy what was left of his family. Sam was the same way, heavy sweats and bizarre withdrawal symptoms from the blood in his system taking the place of his painful visions, but he still shot up asking if it was real most nights. Dean was glad to remind him. Glad to tell him the bullet worked.

It was hard to believe that part was over. It was harder still to believe the story Sam had told him, while Dean was still high on pain meds and hooked to a machine. Sam had given him and Bobby the blow-by-blow, and while they'd both voiced their speculation, a shared look between them said they didn't doubt the possibility that she was telling the truth.

A slayer. A demon-powered demon hunter.

His stomach had done about fifteen flips during that story, and it wasn't until after that he realized the real kicker. She was in the wind. Gone by sunrise without a trace, without so much as a goodbye.

"Do we hunt or thank her?" Bobby had asked.

Dean was still trying to answer that question. While he was healing up at Bobby's, he'd started keeping tabs, putting out feelers to people in the hunting community about a girl who was new to the job. One of Bobby's old hunting buddies, Rufus Turner, had been surprisingly helpful at finding her. From there, Dean had simply followed, keeping an eye on her work. Dropping the tail long enough for Sam and him to finish up a hunt before picking up her trail again. The last hunt they'd been on had sent him toward an old flame, but he hated himself for thinking about Faith every time he looked at Lisa's dark hair. It had probably been a good thing the kid hadn't been his.

Dean was pulled out of his thoughts when Faith threw back her shot, then stood up, pulling up the jacket laid over the next stool as she moved to leave. Another town gone, time to move on. Dean pulled out his wallet, laying a twenty on the table as he moved to follow her lead, but he hesitated when Faith suddenly turned around, locking eyes with him. There wasn't a bit of surprise on her face.

She strolled toward him with a small twitch at her lips, like she wasn't sure if she should grin or scowl. "I saved you a seat," she said, "waited half the night for you to sit in it. What's you deal, Winchester?"

Dean opened and closed his mouth, lost for a moment. "Just admiring you from afar," he finally answered.

"How 'bout you don't," she suggested. She tugged something out of her pocket, tossing it onto the table. "I asked for two when I checked in. Thought I might need it."

Dean caught the card. It was a key to a room at the motel next door. "You know, a guy could take this the wrong way," he noted, holding it up between two fingers.

"Let's hope so," she said, turning her back to him. "I'm getting tired of waiting."

She walked off without another word, drawing eyes from around the room, including Dean's. Dean swallowed, his mouth suddenly wet, and he tapped the key card on the tabletop nervously. He'd been expecting a fight when he finally confronted her. He'd even expected himself to be the one picking the fight. But now he'd forgotten whatever his plan had been. He'd told Sam, and himself, that he was keeping up with her to make sure she was hunting and not hurting people, to look for hints that she was working with another demon or that her powers were out of control. Bobby had even given him a damn list of questions to ask when he spoke to her next, the old hunter enjoying a somewhat frustrating rabbit hole of research from what she'd told Sam.

Sam had joked about Dean just wanting to get in her pants. Little brother was half right. Not that he'd admit it, but part of him had already concluded that she really was from another version of their world, and that meant she was alone her. Dean didn't want that for her. He knew what loneliness could do to a hunter.

He sighed, pocketing the card before sending Sam a text: don't wait up.

* * *

Faith wasn't expecting to wait. She'd stripped down to her panties and tank top, lounging back on the bed to watch television, and she was through half an Evil Dead movie before she realized she'd been stood up. The son of a bitch had been in the running for Stalker of the Year for weeks, and now that he had an invitation, he was taking his sweet time.

"Just like a dude," she muttered, turning off the TV.

The rasp on the door almost startled her. She raised a brow, barely moving to sit the remote on the side table.

"I gave you a key for a reason," she snapped.

He stepped in a moment later, giving her a long, lingering look before his mouth dropped open. "Guess I didn't misread that invitation," he noted.

"Got to spoon feed it to some guys," she complained. "Jesus will you get in here and take your pants off already."

Dean cleared his throat and found the seat beside the room's small round table. "I can't believe I, Dean Winchester, am saying this, but we need to talk, Faith."

Faith lowered her eyes, suddenly feeling every inch of skin she was showing. She crossed her arms over her chest. She resisted the urge to say something to get him riled up and pissed. That was what old Faith would have done, she reminded herself. Get angry over rejection. Do anything to get some satisfaction. She didn't want to be that person in front of Dean.

"So I'm guessing Sam told you about me."

"Wasn't supposed to be a secret, was it?" Dean asked.

"Not from you." She shrugged, propping her head against the board behind her pillows. "Would have told you myself, but you were busy being half-dead and whatnot. Plus I figured Sam had a right to know first." She looked up, a question in the air and from the deep frown on Dean's face, she knew the answer. Sam had told him the part about her being sent to kill him. Big bro couldn't have been happy to hear that she'd been thinking murder from the get-go. Maybe that had been what was killing his boner.

"He took it well," she added, still shocked by Sam's response.

"We've seen some shit," Dean explained.

"No kidding."

Faith tried to put herself in their shoes, and, yes, she knew that if they'd knocked on slayer headquarters with that story, believing them would have been the easy part. If their lives were even remotely like hers, they'd been in weirder situations before.

"So did I pass your tests or whatever?" Faith asked.

Dean narrowed his eyes at the lamp, shaking his head at whatever he was thinking. "When did you notice me?"

"That car is a beauty, but she ain't exactly inconspicuous." Faith grinned at him, liking the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he was amused. "So did I pass or not?"

"A-plus in Hunting 101," he assured her.

"I meant the part where I'm human. Did I pass?"

Dean gave her a strange look, like he was confused. "I… That's not what I was looking for, Faith. I know you're a hundred percent woman." He tried to make that last part sound flirtly, but his voice was too serious for her to take it that way. He ran a hand across his mouth, as if to stop whatever he was about to say. "Listen, I know what you are, okay? I don't fully understand it, but I know. And wherever you get your power, well that makes you a lot like Sammy. And I'll never let anyone tell me my brother isn't a person, so don't think for a minute I see a demon when I look at you, Faith."

Faith didn't like the way her face felt hot. She sat up straight, curling her legs beneath her until she was kneeling at the end of the bed. She reached out, grabbing Dean by the sleeve and tugging. He stood up, following her over and bent down, catching her lips with his. The kiss was chaste, lingering. It felt small and bright, like a match.

Faith let out a breath against his cheek before gripping the sides of his shirt and twisting him down onto the bed beside her, leaning over him for another kiss. He returned in full force, but she wanted more so she smothered his body with hers. She slid a hand between them, trying to find a way through his shirts and decided to roughly tug his belt out of its loop instead. He reached down, grabbing her hand suddenly and pulling it up to his chest. She could feel the fast beat of his heart beneath her palm.

He was staring up at her with wide, blown pupils, lips parted breathlessly. Beautiful, if a guy could be called beautiful.

"We're not doing this," he said, sounding pained.

She lifted up off him. "Kinda feels like we are," she disagreed.

"I want to see who you are," Dean said, his throat pulsing as he swallowed. "I want to see Faith."

What did that even mean? She wanted to bite those lips. "You're fuckin' looking at her."

"We're not having sex tonight," he said. "You just finished a hunt. I know where your brain's at, because I know what I'm like after a hunt. You want a distraction from all the ugly, and I want you here with me when I'm inside you. I don't want to just screw you like it's a bad habit, Faith."

"If I'd known you were such a tease-"

Dean cut her off, arching forward to catch her in another kiss. He wrapped an arm around her waist, turning her onto her back so he could lean over her.

"I've got a feeling," he said, into her mouth, "that you like to do things rough. Get it done. And we can do that, but not today. Because I don't want this to be a one and done. Gonna leave you wanting more." He sealed it, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth and letting them trail down to the nape of her neck. His words tickled at her collarbone. "There's no one else like you, Faith."

"Not in this world," she breathed, enjoying the sensation.

"Not in any world," he said, his voice husky, heated.

She could feel him even through his jeans, pressed against her thigh, but he didn't make so much as a move toward himself. Instead, his rough fingertips, circled her inner thigh, edging into her panties. She buckled against him, hoping for contact, and he raised up, his eyes wide and glassy as they looked down at her.

"Just want to see you," he said, like the words made sense.

She could barely hear them when his fingers slipped inside her, hard and needy and deep. She whimpered but didn't dare move to stop him. His thumb rolled against her clit in wide, lazy circles.

"Harder," she growled. "Faster."

"No," he said, quietly, keeping his slow pace. It was murder. "I got you, Faith."

The seconds passed, every one of them torture until she felt it building inside her, that pulse rocking against his hand, promising a tight squeeze and scream. He pulled his fingers free, letting them work her from the outside in. Her body arched, electricity rolling from her toes to her lips. She pressed her head against the mattress like she could make her body curl back in on itself, and shook against him like she'd been struck by lightning.

"I see you, Faith."

His fingers stayed hard at work, his lips moving down to greet them. Her eyes closed, and she let her body ride out another storm. Dean Winchester was going to be the death of her.

* * *

The dream came, like it usually did, but instead of a bright desert, it was night and there was a playground laid out in front of her. It took Faith a moment to recognize it, but she finally did. It was one of the places she'd taken the junior slayers hunting in Cleveland, when there was a rumor of something hungry sneaking through the nearby sewer entrance. Faith spotted the woman on a swing, the chains creaking as the moved back and forth slightly, the toes of her boots staying on the ground.

"It reminds me of the one in Sunnydale," Buffy said, sounding bored. "Do all playgrounds look this much alike?"

"Pretty much," Faith said. "Of course, I wouldn't really know since I'm not some perv who spends her days playing with strange children."

Buffy blinked, as if she hadn't realized anyone would be replying to her question, and straightened, bringing her swing to a full stop. "Faith? I can't believe that worked."

Faith's eyes narrowed as she looked the other woman over, like she couldn't figure out what was different. "Your hair's longer," she said, quietly. "You're not the first slayer. Buffy?"

"In the flesh," Buffy replied, "well, not actually in the flesh. More like, in the astral projected spirit." She waved a hand, brushing off the comment. "Willow did a thing."

"Like she does." Faith nodded. "So you found me. Guess I have some explaining to do."

"Yep."

"First slayer sent me to kill a guy doomed to end this world."

"Ah." Buffy was silent a moment. "Fast story."

Faith shrugged. "I didn't kill him. Banging his brother in the morning though."

"Hot?" Buffy asked.

"Oh yeah." Faith eased over to the swing next to Buffy's, plopping down. "So, not that I hate seeing your face, distance making the heart grow fonder and all that shit, but is there a reason you're here?"

Buffy turned from her seat, giving Faith a hard look. "We were afraid for you," she said, quietly. "You just into a hole and we don't know if you're headed to Hell-verse or just taking a vacation. It was rude."

"I'm not a sharer," Faith said.

Buffy sighed. "We learned some things, while we were looking for you. Willow, she's so connected to what we are not, but even she didn't know how to reach you to the essence of the first slayer to find you. Sineya wasn't giving you up without a fight. So, Will tried a different approach. She thought if she could focus on the power itself, she could figure out where you were."

"And here I am."

"Here you are." Buffy smiled slightly. "Will's got talent. She learned some things, about the demon we were made from. Some things our visions were keeping from us. Faith, those shaman, the ones who tied Sineya down, we don't think they were human, and they didn't pick just any demon to rip to shreds either. It was evil, that thing, and they put it in us so that they could make something good from it. To restore a balance."

"I kind of know this story," Faith pointed out.

"It was the demon's fault. The creatures that roamed the earth back then, it was the demon's fault they were there."

Faith frowned. "It made the monsters? Vampires and werewolves, oh my?"

Buffy shook her head. "No, no that's not what Willow says. She said she asked the void and the void told her the creatures were there, the Mother's Children, it called them, but this demon decided to get creative and it released these Hell beasts. Things so rotten that, and I quote, "Lucifer himself," refused to let roam. The uber-demons mated with the Mother's Children, and suddenly Earth was overrun. Heaven and Hell both intervened to fix the mistake. They couldn't put the creatures back in the box, so they decided to even the playing ground."

"By creating the slayers," Faith finished. She swallowed hard. "Always a balance," she muttered. "As cool as this history lesson is, I don't think I'm getting the point of this visit. What are you trying to tell me, B?"

"Willow called out, trying to find the essence of the demon we were made from," Buffy replied. "It had a name. Only, she didn't just find you when she called out. The world you're in, that demon still exists. Whole. As in, there wasn't a reason for him to torn apart and shoved in a village girl thousands of years ago. Asmodeus the Punished, he's still kicking in that world."

"That's comforting." Faith swallowed hard, thinking of the yellow-eyed demon, of what he'd said about her being another demon's creation. There was a reason the yellow-eyed bastard recognized something in her. "Better keep eyes on my six, then."

Buffy tilted her head in a short nod. "If that creature felt Willow's summons, it might start looking for you…And another thing. That demon never released those super creatures from that world, if he's still standing. Which means they're there somewhere."

"They're not getting out," Faith assured. "We'll make sure of it."

"We?" Buffy smirked. "End of the World guy and his hot brother?"

"They're good at this job," Faith mused. "So if we manage to stop what ever Apocalypse is headed this way, we'll look into the uber-demon lair thing, 'kay? Which, by the way, I can't believe you're still trying to give me assignment from another universe?"

"No escaping Bossy Buffy." Buffy gave Faith another look over, somewhat somber. "You seem… lighter."

"Orgasms."

" _Faith_."

Faith chuckled. "I'm happy here." She shook her head in wonder. "It's been blood and doom and destruction since I arrived, but it feels like home, ya know?"

"I'm glad."

The words faded, like the wind had caught them. Faith found herself blinking at a white sheet.

"Way to drop a bomb and run, B," Faith muttered.

Someone groaned against her hair, and Faith remembered where she was, who she was with. She felt him flush against her back. Faith shifted her body up the length of the bed, enjoying the hard prod she felt against her hip. She resisted the urge to wiggle a bit, get him worked up in his sleep, and carefully lifted the arm he had around her waist and rolled over instead, so she could see his face.

She'd lost her panties in the night, but he was still decidedly too dressed, his jeans unbutton but still pulled up, his wrinkled undershirt hiked up to his belly. Faith reached down, tugging his zipper the rest of the way down, and slipped her hand into his jeans. He was throbbing and hot under her touch, and it made her light up from the inside. When she looked back up, his eyes were blinking to awareness.

"Faith," he breathed, his voice husky.

She could listen to her name on his lips all day. "My turn to see you, Dean Winchester," she said, at a whisper.

He smiled softly at her, and she leaned forward, licking it off his lips. She could wake up every day like this, she realized: a warm body beside her, a welcoming grin, beautiful eyes that wanted to see more of her. This must be what it felt like, belonging somewhere. Having a home.

Faith sucked in a shallow breath. She had a home. Right here, right now. And she'd be damned if she let any evil demonic asshole take this from her.

* * *

 **End Notes: End of the story, for now. Obviously, I hope to write another story, after this set-up fic, to see how things go in the SPN verse after this big change in events, since we all know the Apocalypse is still looming in the background. And there are some questions to be answered from the Buffy 'verse, as well, since, with the introduction of Heavenly and Hellish duplicates, we have some misplaced Archangels and princes in their world, don't we? Well, not exactly misplaced...I plan to do a quick tag to this story about a certain demonic influence, and I might just put it here as the epilogue so it's easier to find. But, until then, thank you for reading my story. I really do value all your comments and suggestions, and maybe I'll even be able to work a few in to the sequel.**


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